Accepting reality: fantasies are so much more fun!

I passed the 80 week mark on Saturday-I didn't exactly celebrate. In fact, I started to gear up for my lube job tomorrow-or should I say, double lube job, since I get the hosepipe at both ends?

My friend Dani rang me on Saturday to inform me that someone we both knew-whose name is Ann-died suddenly on Friday afternoon. I was quite upset: Ann was 57 years old, and I thought she was in good health. Wrong-appearances can be so deceptive, can't they?

The thing about Ann was that I spent many hours on the phone with her, counselling her, trying to help her make sense of a bad marriage and her desire to leave (but fear of doing so). Ann, you see, has (or, rather, had) been married for many years to a man who was cold, manipulative and bullying-I have a lot of experience there, since my ex was very similar. I told her once that it seems like they could have been twins, separated at birth!!

Ann wanted to leave-but all her money was tied up in the property they owned together, and she was adamant that she wasn't willing to change her lifestyle. So-there were times she was nearly suicidal, and she had to go off work because of her emotional state. I spent so much time listening to her complaining-and I was trying to recover from "the event", so you can imaging how much fun that wasn't!! But she needed someone who had been through something similar to encourage her to decide what she wanted, and to have the courage to walk away and create a happy life for herself. I reached the point where I was headed for therapy, so I told her that she had to make the decisions for herself.

The short version: Ann returned to work, still complaining to anyone who would listen, and still miserable in her marriage but afraid to do anything about it. On Friday, she walked into a back room in her office, had a massive stroke, and died-alone.

That brings me to reality vs. fantasy: both of us dreamed of a better life, but she opted out of hers by dying. There but for the grace of God, etc, etc!! I spent more than 18 months dreaming about being somewhere else, being someone else, not ever having gone through the ordeal I went through, winning the lottery, and so on-Ann, in her own way, did the same: fantasizing over a better life. But she didn't take any steps to improve her life, and all I have done for 80+ weeks is fight for something that resembles normalcy. And-I mention this because I know several people who have been through traumatic experiences and dream about something better, although they don't seem to be either able or willing to create change.

So there you go. We were going to have lunch together next week, and now I have her funeral to attend instead. What is there about so many women that we are so stuck in a bad situation that we refuse to either change it or walk away and create something better? Is any man-or a house, or a car, or money in the bank, or whatever-worth dying for? I walked away with nothing (which just about gave my solicitor an aneurism), and life has been anything but a walk in the park ever since, but at least I have my freedom and my independence. If I screwed up (and I did, a lot), at least I did it on my own. I made my own choices and decisions, and a lot of them weren't the best (hindsight is always 20/20), but they were mine.

Yep-fantasies are fun, but they do tend to get in the way of reality if we let them, and time passes and our lives rush by at warp speed. It took me 80 weeks to be able to accept that my life is different (boy, is it ever!!), but it doesn't have to be tragic. I have to be able to move on, and share my life with anyone who is really interested (via this blog), and I don't intend to pop my clogs anytime soon. I will keep you posted.

Tomorrow is the dreaded hosepipe gig. And Sean, my gastro guy, tells me that taking two days of Klean Prep is a lot cheaper than spending over £125 on a colonic irrigation-and it is more effective, too. It's also unpleasant-but I can take that money and spend it on something frivolous!! Why not? I'm worth it!

CVID, sex and me

One of the reasons I contracted pseudomonas in the first place-and why I know so many people at Barts and the London on a first-name basis (sadly, for me!!), is the fact that I have a hereditary condition known as CVID: Common Variable Immune Deficiency. This is caused by a defective gene, and passed from mother to foetus. So it isn't contagious-unless I happen to give birth to you (or anyone), you cannot "catch" the condition. And if you have it (one out of about every 50,000 people is born with this), well-that's tough, and you are snookered, because it means you have no antibodies to fight off infection.

I'm not sure whom to blame-but, since my mother and her eight siblings all died young from various forms of cancer, I'm pretty sure I can blame her side for this dud gene. I would investigate further, and ask one of them-but, oh, yeah-they're all dead! Oh, well-I didn't like most of them anyway.

This lack of antibodies has a really nasty effect  on all the body systems-particularly the lungs (respiratory system), because one develops every infection going around. If someone around you has a cold, you might contract it and be sick for a week. I might contract it and spend weeks in hospital with pneumonia. The luck of the draw, and I had to learn to live with this.

I try to be careful-although, when I was first diagnosed in 2005, I wondered if I should never go anywhere near crowds, or wear a mask and pretend I'm Michael Jackson. I gave up that idea very quickly!

The other day, I was on a bus and a woman came on who was wearing a mask and surgical gloves. Now-that was scary. Three people turned away, and covered their faces, in case she was contagious. I have to admit that I was one of those people!! This, of course, begs the question: is paranoia contagious??

I don't take gloves and mask with me, but I do take a ton of Purell, the hand sanitizer they use in the hospitals. If it's good enough for the hospital, it's good enough for me. The stock in Purell must have risen sharply in the last five years!!!

I have to go into hospital -very soon, much too soon - for a gastroscopy and colonoscopy. I've got a few problems, so my gastroenterologist is going inside to take a look. CVID also severely impacts the digestive system-and people with CVID are far more likely to develop various cancers (lymphoma and colorectal cancer, to name but two); when there is a problem, here come the doctors!

This double procedure involves shoving a big hosepipe down one end, and one up the other (not at the same time, thank goodness!!). A light and camera are passed through the tubes and the consultant then takes lovely pictures which show the most popular areas for tumours to develop. What a Kodak moment!

I'm lucky to have a really good consultant (not like Dr Not-so-Bright, this one is really good), and I call him by his first name. Why not? He is the one who shoves the hosepipe up my rectum, I'm not inclined to be formal after something like that!

I have to tell you about pain. If you are into pain, knock yourself out and go have a colonoscopy. For the gastroscopy, you have to swallow this huge hosepipe-with only throat spray to ease the pain (it doesn't), and the gag reflex kicks in (you feel like you are choking to death, and the consultant says, oh, it will be fine. Maybe-if I kick you). And the colonoscopy? They don't knock you out, only mildly sedate you (never works on me, and I keep asking for valium but never get it). You feel a hosepipe-giant sized, bigger than at the top end-and you feel it going all the way up. Oh, joy!

The last time I had this was two years ago, and I said to Sean (the consultant) that I couldn't understand how anyone in their right mind (who isn't a masochist) would EVER have anal sex. Ouch!! I mean, OUCH!!
He laughed and turned beet red, and said he was glad I waited until it was all over to comment.

Honestly. If anyone EVER even hints at having anal sex with me, I will give him a piece of my mind. Then I will give him a piece of my fist.

Sometimes a good kick works!

Ah, computers, got to love 'em. When they decide to go on strike, we don't know what to do-some of us, anyway. That goes for mobile phones, too! My ancient laptop packed up, so I have to borrow one to go online until I set up my brand, spanking new one at the weekend. Can hardly wait-I feel bereft. How sad that is!!

I upgraded my mobile-through Orange, which is probably the world's worst service provider, second only to TMobile and Vodaphone. Orange sent me a replacement iPhone last week, and took the broken one back. Oh joy! The one they sent me didn't work-so they did diagnostics and informed me that the handset is defective (as if I'm incapable of figuring that out by myself!!). So they sent me to Apple. I have to say that the people at Apple were great-absolutely GREAT!! They sent me another one, which I received yesterday.

I said to the Apple guys that I just replaced my ancient laptop with a new Apple-and I think the customer service at Apple is second to none. I also mentioned that I tell people who complain that their computers are slow, or don't work (that always happens when you call some government office, doesn't it?), to give it a good kick. Actually-I stopped saying that, because last week at the hospital, the receptionist at the clinic looked horrified. Some people just have no sense of humour.

I'm taking a meditation class: once a week (two hours), and I am halfway through. It is geared toward people with severe pain, or some kind of disability, as well as those with depression. I've listened to some of the stories; although the facilitators stated that this is a class and not group therapy, I find myself thinking that some of these people could use a dose of therapy. They seem so sad-and I said the other day, when a woman mentioned that her only problem is a "little depression" and she feels like she shouldn't complain when some people have problems that are so much worse. I truly wanted to say something to help her-but it wasn't my class, and the facilitators didn't say much, so I kept my mouth shut. I'm learning-FINALLY- to mind my own business and to never give advice. That is harder than anything else!!

An acquaintance invited me to lunch the other day. Several people were there, and the hostess was going on and on about this bowl of caviar she had put on the table. Beluga, she said-only the finest-£990 for 250 grams. What?? I had to bite my tongue to keep from laughing. What kind of idiot spends nearly £1000 on something that looks like mouldy frog spawn? The worst thing about it was that I could swear it was still moving.

What can I say? I'm not into pretentious idiots. I am into computers (I didn't say I'm any good, I just said I'm into them), and research (mainly medical, obviously), and anything that keeps my brain from turning to strawberry jam.

I'm just a Geek Goddess...:)

Trust me, I'm a doctor

What a busy week I've had!! And I haven't been able to get online to blog, or do anything else. Bummed, that is what I have been!!! I need to set up my brand new computer-but I haven't had time. Hospital stuff, again; if I stop moving long enough, I swear they will try to dissect me. And, typical of Barts and the London, they would mess that up, too!!

I did get a call from DC Bent on Friday; he was quite abrupt, and told me that the police will take no further action. No witnesses? No CCTV? Too bad, he said (they don't teach policemen to have anything remotely resembling tact), my word against hers, so they will not pursue it any further. He was very clear that he (and the police, and the CPS) are disinterested. Funny, that. No wonder that lawyer told my really sweet Victim Support person that only 30 out of 500 cases went to court. What a clear signal we are sending to the rest of the world: come to Britain, commit as much crime as you want, and you will not be prosecuted. Even a policeman told me that this is the state of British "justice". No wonder people carry guns (unfortunately, the ones who do tend to shoot the ones who don't).

Well-I was very upset on Friday, but I have decided that I cannot (and will not) continue to dwell on this, because all I do is make myself sick over it.

Today I went to the neurology hospital for my last visit. Prakash is gone, of course, but his replacement (the new Prakash) is very nice and very capable. Izzy told me that I am doing all right, but that any vestibular physiotherapist will tell me the same thing: since the mechanism is completely destroyed on both sides, it is unlikely - just about impossible - that I will get any more balance, equilibrium and visual focus back. I need to learn to deal with life the way it is now, not wish for something that won't happen.

Well-perhaps that is true. Then again, perhaps it isn't. My lawyer called me about an hour ago, to let me know that the consultant who reviewed my file - and who has over 40 years' experience in the field of medicine - advised her that the care I was given was woefully inadequate. Even though a lot of the file was conveniently missing, he was able to piece together that the gentamicin levels were not checked, and that treatment should have been stopped when I said I was having a reaction to the antibiotic.

Interesting, eh, what?? Lawsuit here we come. Four consultant specialists have now said the same thing: Barts is culpable. Dr. Not-so-Bright and Dr Grigoriadou are guilty of negligence (and incompetence). I would rather the last 18 months had never happened, of course; I would rather have all my abilities, forget the money. But I don't-and they will have to pay. Through the nose.

What I find most interesting is the attitude of so many doctors: trust me, I'm a doctor, and you aren't, so therefore I know everything and you know nothing. How many people everywhere-not just in Britain, but everywhere-have been crippled or killed by some moron who calls himself (or herself) a doctor? A specialist? Specialist in what, taking your money (or someone else's money) under what amounts to false pretenses?

I've learned many things in 18 months: the value of patience, for instance, not that I have any!! The value of tenacity: never quit, never walk away, never, ever give up. And never trust a doctor!!! Trust me, I'm a doctor, and I know you better than you know yourself, because I have a degree in medicine and you don't-- what kind of medicine? You have a BS? Well, we all know what that means, don't we??

Never take anyone else's word for it, whatever "it"is; always trust your gut, and always research whatever it is anyone wants to do to you, or whatever medicine anyone wants to give you. Due diligence, that is the expression of the day. Research everything - especially the doctor.

I think I now like doctors less than politicians. And I don't trust either of them!!

Either a miracle, or beware lots of bruises!

I went to see my neurologist (who will always be known-behind his back, of course-as Dr. Dimples) yesterday. I have to admit, I was distracted by the dimples. Oh, well - he IS my doctor. And he is probably much too young for me. But, I can have my own little fantasies. At this point, fantasies seem a lot more enjoyable than reality!

He said: no more stick. No tripod, no single point stick (cane), no support at all unless I am having a very bad day - or it snows, or rains. Why? Because I have had a support aid for 18 months, and if I really want that magic 80% back, I will have to work harder for it. In other words: walk without help, and if people push me, no swearing at them, no matter how much I want to do so!!

Eeek!! I am really nervous about this. In fact, today I carried the stick, and I was very dizzy and my balance was nil. I understand why he (and my physiotherapist) said that the balance, vertigo and loss of focus are substantially worse when I am nervous or upset.

Still - I want that 80%. In fact, I want more than that if it is at all possible (I know: I'm very greedy!). To do that, I will have to step up and take risks. Dimples said yesterday that I have to work harder and longer. It has only been 18 months, he said. ONLY!! I see him again in August-two years after the whole event occurred. I want to walk in there with normal gait, and no vertigo, and no eye problems. So-we'll see. This is a real challenge-and I never back away from a challenge!! Maybe I should buy knee pads?

A tiny miracle-but a miracle nevertheless

It has been a long, difficult journey - and has taken me 18 months to get this far. That, in itself, is a miracle. Last year I was so frustrated, and angry, I was at the point of giving up. In fact, I prayed to die. Living wasn't-and isn't- much fun. Not much fun at all.I didn't come this far to roll over and give up and die. I'm simply too bloody minded, too obstinate, to quit. I haven't even started to live yet!!

I tell the gentamicin story to people who ask what happened, why I appear so healthy-except for the walking stick, and the obvious balance difficulty-and I am constantly told how couragious I am, and what an inspiration I am. Well - I don't know about that. All I do know is that the alternative isn't something I want to think about. I experienced that at the very beginning: having people come into my home and have to wash me because I was unable to do it myself, and having people come in to help me prepare meals because they were afraid that, left to my own devices, I would probably inadvertently set myself (and the building) on fire.

People came in to help me get out of bed and walk; they had to support me while I tried to walk up and down the stairs, because I couldn't do it on my own. For the first time in my life, I felt like a cripple. And I did all the exercises I was given because I was afraid not to do so-I was terrified that I would be like this for the rest of my life.

I remember a friend telling me that nothing lasts forever. Things change; good things, bad things, happy events, disasters, sickness-nothing lasts forever. I stopped believing in God. I stopped believing in anything and everything. All I wanted was to recover my faculties. I needed the strength and courage to go on. I needed the strength and courage to put one foot in front of the other (more or less) without falling flat on my face.

I wanted at least 80% of my balance and vision back before the end of 2010. That didn't happen, and I cried for the week ending December 31, 2010. Then I decided it would have to be better by Easter, 2011. That didn't happen, either. Then July, then Christmas (2011), then New Year's. Nothing. There is no God. If there is, he is AWOL. Or he just isn't interested. So I am going to have to rely on myself, and only myself.

It has now been 18 months, and I have approximately 50% back-depending on the day. If it is raining, or snowing, or the barometric pressure outside has changed, if I am tired, haven't slept well, or I have a cold-all those things affect my balance, equilibrium, vision and focus. Of course, when it is dark, I am unable to walk or focus my eyes at all. I am not able to go out after dark; I turn into a pumpkin after dark!

I ask: why me? Then again- why not me?

I have a place to live. It isn't the greatest, it isn't what I want, but it is a roof over my head, and that is more than can be said for many people. I have a lot of things: I have two legs, both of which function reasonably well. Things could be so much worse. Eighteen months ago, things were so much worse. I'm beginning to realize how grateful I should be - and that realization is a miracle in itself.

I'm going for a lymph node biopsy next week - to check for lymphoma. Got the symptoms. Hopefully, I haven't got the disease. That would be too much to handle; I have been through enough. But-I had to deal with this (myself, mainly)-so I can deal with anything else. Nobody else will do it for me.

Nothing lasts forever.

Foot in mouth: small foot, big mouth

I entertained myself yesterday by slagging off everyone - I felt justified in doing so, since I had to deal with abuse from the general public (and I have had to do so for the last 18 months).

Oh dear-I got a call from an English friend of mine, who usually agrees with me about this topic. She reminded me that I am the first one to have a go at people who make generalizations-and that is exactly what I did in my post yesterday! So, we had a friendly discussion about that, and I reminded her that she has always agreed with me-and that  she is one of the small percentage of people who don't fit into that category. We had a laugh; she told me I should slap myself for putting that onto the blog-although what else is a blog for, but to tell the truth about what is going on?

She proceeded to remind me that we attract things to ourselves. Eucch!! All that new age claptrap!! We manifest all the things that happen to us. That may be the case, but I told her that I didn't attract all this, and I think she should slap herself for saying it! Perhaps we should slap each other...

My take on the "we attract all of it" is: why on earth would we want to create more guilt in our lives by placing the blame on ourselves? So many of us (myself included) already are loaded with the Catholic/Presbyterian/Jewish guilt we have spent a lifetime trying to eradicate-so why blame ourselves and create more of the same??

Feel free to either agree or disagree-I would love to hear other points of view. My very good friend (for the last 18 years) is following this blog, and has reminded me on several occasions that bad things happen to good people. True! Do we want to beat ourselves up some more? Hardly!!

Speaking of beating ourselves up-today marks exactly 18 months since "the event". I still ruminate over the whole time period - and I am slowly (and I do mean, slowly) reaching the point where I have to accept that my life has changed considerably, and there is nothing I can do to undo what has been done. Acceptance does ease the pain (somewhat), but the prospect of never getting any more of my abilities back creates a great deal of anxiety. Still.

I can only work harder, and refuse to quit. I can only respond to Prakash's statement that I will never get more than 50% back (if I'm lucky) by saying "perhaps you are right. Perhaps". The brain is a remarkable organ, and as long as there is a chance, I will aim higher-a lot higher. As long as I am still breathing, there is always a chance.

I was walking up the road this morning, and I heard a noise and turned my head. I didn't think about that action, I just did it. What surprised me was that I didn't topple over. In fact, I was able to walk and turn my head at the same time-unheard of even six months ago. I smiled at the cat that caused the noise, and kept going; I smiled because I was able to do something I haven't been able to do for the best part of 18 months.

Even the smallest victory is a victory. I have truly learned that life is short, and we should never take anything for granted.

Full moon? Or just a world full of Neanderthals??

It's been a full week-so many hospital appointments! Barts is still trying to get out of accepting responsibility for the gentamicin toxicity-and if I stop long enough, someone will probably try to dissect me!

My physiotherapist - Prakash, who has now gone on to bigger and better things (he of the comment that nobody would ever look at me twice because I am on a walking stick and clearly visually impaired), is the person who told me last time I saw him that people are stupid, insensitive, selfish, rude, and have no consideration for anyone but themselves.

I think he's right-not everyone is like that, but, sadly, the morons seem to be in the majority. Today I was walking up the high street and a woman came around the corner and crashed into me. Rather than apologize (God forbid anyone in this country apologizes!), she screamed at me and called me a stupid bitch and told me to watch where I am going. I didn't engage (good for me!!); I decided that she is probably a nutter, and certainly braindead, and could possibly hit me-I just ignored her and kept walking (or, rather, wobbling).

This week it was on the news: 20% of people in this country are functionally illiterate, and 25% of people are functionally innumerate. I wasn't at all surprised, although I really believe that at least 95% are just completely braindead. They have no manners, no class, no consideration, nothing. If there is anything inside the cranium, it is nothing but toxic waste. Neanderthals? That is an insult to Neanderthals.  It isn't just that people don't look: people don't care. They see, but they don't give a monkey's. No wonder a study twenty years ago showed that the average IQ in this country is 80. I look around, and over the last 18 months I have come to believe that that figure of 80 must be cumulative. Really!

Prakash advised me not to engage, and not to be wound up by the cretins who crash into me (and swear at me, like that imbecile did today). He pointed out that they are cockroaches, and why get upset when a cockroach acts like a cockroach?

Good advice! I'm passing that on to anyone who has shared a similar experience. And tomorrow marks exactly 18 months since "the event". I can't tell you how many times I have heard really nasty comments and have been pushed aside or knocked over. My perspective, my feelings about the innate goodness of people - these are changing drastically. For a born optimist, I have become incredibly cynical. I prefer dogs to people, that's for sure!!

I've been ruminating all week - as you do when there isn't that much you can do! Regardless of my sadness at the behavior of people in general, I somehow believe there are good people out there, and I figure that I won't meet any of those until I get out and start living. For 18 months, life has been all about symptoms, illness, exercises, anger, bitterness, anxiety-and fear. In the beginning, I couldn't even wash myself without assistance. I can only imagine how old people who are completely dependent on carers must feel.

So it has been 18 months. Next week I will see the neurologist (Dr.Dimples), and see what he has to say about the fact that the Neurology Hospital people tell me that I have about 50% of my abilities, and will not get any more back. As long as I can pick up items once I've dropped them, and as long as I can cook on a gas hob without setting fire to either myself or the building, they figure their job is done. I have to live out my life this way.

Well - that is what they say. We'll see who is right. I'm not giving up. The fat lady hasn't sung yet.

I have to admit that people like that ignorant cow who cursed at me today do still get me down, though. I need to work on the impulse to turn around and smack them with my stick!

Small victories

It really did snow on Saturday night. I'm used to the weather forecasters being wrong; they say it will rain, and it is either a beautiful day or a monsoon. But I looked out my window at about 1am on Sunday, and, sure enough, the ground was completely white.

I like snow. I like it when it first falls; everything looks so clean, and beautifully white. I don't like it quite so much when it turns icy, though. I had to stay inside on Sunday-and Monday morning-because it was too icy for me to venture out (although I have to say, I did make an attempt!).

The fact that I cannot negotiate an icy road brought home my vulnerability-again. And I had a choice: I could either give in to the black dog of depression that keeps nipping at my heels (sometimes it chomps its way up my legs!), or I could be philosophical about it. Even younger, fitter people don't like negotiating through ice, so I am certainly not alone.

I thought back to the three people who hit on me last week, and that was enough to make me smile, even though I was completely housebound for two days. The one was an old, filthy hobo who clearly had a thing for his daughter (creepy!!), the second was another old guy who felt it necessary to stop me in the street and tell me all about his toilet habits (gross!), and the third was a young guy who obviously was looking for a bit more experience dealing with women (yeah, just call me Mrs. Robinson!). I was polite but firm with all of them-I'm so diplomatic in my dotage!! But it is safer to avoid hurting anybody's feelings. I'm learning!! Perhaps I should run for public office (LOL as if!).

The interesting fact - after all this - is that I can do a lot more than I could do 18 months ago, when "the event" just happened. At first, I couldn't stand up without feeling so dizzy I would topple over. And I couldn't walk up the road without staggering as if I was either drunk or on drugs. That fact, sadly, led to a lot of nasty comments from my neighbors-and the physiotherapists reminding me that people are idiots and I shouldn't take any notice of anything they do or say. Point taken-it only took me 18 months to get it!!

I actually was able to walk up the road - with a single point stick, now, no more tripod - and turn my head without falling over. Yes, turning my head without falling over might not seem like much to anyone who is able-bodied, but it is a major thing for me. I even bent down and picked up something I dropped in the kitchen this morning, and I did so without holding onto anything, and without really thinking about it. I might not be able to focus my eyes very well, and I only have-at best-50% of my balance and focus back, but I look back even 3 months and I can see a measurable difference in the things I am able to do.

These are small victories-but they are victories nevertheless. I never expected to be like this 18 months later-and I do get depressed about it when I have a bad day and I can't do anything - but I won't give up the fight to get at least 80% back. Perhaps I am being naive-but I still won't quit.

And here's to you - Paul Simon

London is gearing up for a terrible snowstorm tonight: 4centimeters in the capital. Wow. Two inches at the most. Crippling!! When we get half an inch, the city grinds to a complete halt. That would make the people of New York-in fact, the entire eastern seaboard-laugh hysterically.

I am now at 77 weeks-today, in fact-and I have to say that I have done my due diligence when it comes to exercise, hydration, and all the stuff I am told I have to do to keep upright, if not get any better than I am now. Grrrr....I am at 50% recovery of balance - at the most, and not every day - and I want more. Call me greedy.

I had to laugh this week. When I leave my building, I have two choices (apart from the third one, which is: fall over): I can turn right or I can turn left. If I carry on straight, I will hit somebody's house. Now-I mention this because I seem to be attracting a fan club. Remember I said that I always meet the men who are alcoholics, drug addicts or psychotics? Well - in addition to the married, misogynistic, etc, etc of my last post! I also said that I meet the ones who are ancient and don't have their own hair and teeth (clearly, I need to both get out more and develop better people skills!!).

If I turn to the right, I have an elderly man who lives just down the road-and who has decided that he absolutely must tell me all about his bad feet, arthritis, his recent triple bypass, and, of course (since he claims to be pushing 80), his problem with hemorrhoids. Oh, Joy!!! I do my best to sympathize, but, really- hemorrhoids???? WHY tell me? Does he think that this is attractive to women? And he's bald, so he can forget it. I get all queasy just thinking about it-and I certainly do my best NOT to think about it. So I turn left, and I walk the long way. Well-Dr. Dimples, my neurologist, said walk. If I could sprint, I would.

Don't you know that I have an old geezer down the road-all the way down the road, after I have dodged the women with their prams, and said hello to various (younger) people I know, who practically pounces on me every time he sees me? He stopped me this morning and said that he is 75 and still loves to have sex. He looks like he hasn't had a wash in 50 of those 75 years; his fingernails are filthy and yellow, and so is every part that is visible beneath a dirty jacket and whatever else he is wearing. I try not to look, and I try to stay well away in case he has anything on him that is still moving and can jump.

He proceeded to tell me that I remind him of his daughter, and I am probably around her age. I said I probably am, and I am not interested in men who are old enough to be my father (I was smart enough to leave out the part about dirty and disgusting, as well as ancient and creepy). God!! The filthy old git was hitting on me!! So, of course, I had to tell a lie: not just any lie, but a whopper. I'm sure I will go to Hell for this! I said I have a partner who is a police detective, and a house full of children, and I am not interested in him in the slightest-but that my husband would be very interested if he keeps being so personal. And that was that. He oozed into his house, and I continued on, and I was starting to itch. Naughty me!

That wasn't the most hilarious bit of my day, though. I went into my bank, and had a quick chat with one of the bank staff, a young guy I have spoken with before, and who must be all of 28 or 29.

The bottom line is that this young guy was telling me how he was having girlfriend problems (why does everyone in creation tell me about girl/boyfriend problems, like I'm an expert in personal relationships? I must have that kind of face: a mug's face. :(  And then he started telling me that he really likes older women.
(sorry, I should have warned you, and you are probably choking on your coffee as I tell you this). He said he thinks I'm beautiful, even with the walking stick and the balance problem-and asked me if I like to date younger men. I nearly fell off the chair, and not from dizziness, I can confirm!!

Oh, look at that, my Mrs. Robinson moment, and I wasted it (not completely, though). I so wanted to tell him to come back when his voice breaks and his balls drop - but I couldn't be nasty, the poor thing looks like he is still in puberty. So I said that I would keep this in mind, and that I would start dating once I get more of my balance back and get off the flaming walking stick. He said he didn't mind-I said he's very sweet, and I now will be working even harder (another lie. I'm definitely going to Hell).

So that was my end of the week. I now have to think about climbing out my back window - or leaving the house while it is still dark. Maybe I will start wearing a hoodie. In any case, I will keep flirting with the young bank rep. Perhaps I will start introducing myself as Mrs. Robinson - agony aunt!

Setback or relapse?

Just when I think life is getting easier, something happens to show me that I'm wrong!!

I've had a few days of really severe dizziness, and my balance has been really terrible. I started to wonder why I've gone backwards-back to where I was last year: difficulty in standing up, much less walking-and severe vertigo.

I rang my neurologist-got through to his secretary, and he rang me back to remind me that I would have good days and bad days, and it look like I have had more than a few bad ones!! Persevere, he said-don't give up now. It's only a temporary setback, not a permanent relapse. That made me feel a bit better, even though I had to hold onto the furniture to keep from falling over. And today it is a bit better, so I'm hoping I will continue to move forward. This just reminds me that my condition is permanent, although I am fighting to get more balance back.

My vestibular physiotherapist has moved on to greater things. He is the one who told me a couple of months ago that no decent man is going to want to date someone who is on a walking stick and clearly visually impaired! I was really upset; all I managed to say was that it is a good thing he is a physiotherapist and not a psychiatrist!! I do hope he isn't retraining to do some other kind of therapy!!

So-while I was temporarily incapacitated, I started to ruminate-again!! I thought about men (my favorite subject of late). That is because my neurologist is adorable and has the most wonderful dimples. I find dimples sexy. I also find men who wear suits (really well-made suits!) sexy. All I tend to meet are men who don't have their own hair and teeth, who are at least 75 years old (more like 100, really), don't speak English, and are either completely bonkers, misogynists, addicted to some noxious substance or another, dimwitted, too old, too young, married, cohabiting, or gay. Or-I look at them and think they are potential serial killers. So much for dating!!

Really!! Perhaps I should take up knitting (heh. As if!!).

See what happens when I start to ruminate?